No Beer-Can Crushing Boobies. Sorry

I know where I was supposed to go, but as you all know, plans change. Fast and suddenly. So was the case yesterday. As tempting as it was to see Blondie squeeze our discarded cans of PBR between her un-inflated bosoms, we decided against it. We visited my cousin J’s house, and saw the family for a bit, and met a couple of her friends. One of them, “A”, had an unnatural fear of going home and finding a large black man with a machete waiting for her in her living room. When asked if a large white man with a knife would be different, she admitted it might still be bad…. But fear took the form of a black guy for her. Go figure. Apparently nun-chuck wielding ninjas and gun toting Mexican’s are just not scary enough. Needles to say, she did not come with us, I don’t care how cute she was.

So, the three of us, (J, H, and G) headed to a little area called East Atlanta. A quaint place surrounded by good beer drinking spots and a myriad of personalities that continually add spice to my city. It was three or four bar-hops later that we ran into some folks I haven’t seen in months. It was the perfect finish to a great evening. I saw so many personalities, travelled the city in the company of the folks that I love, and had the opportunity to chat with people which only enrich my life, and the voices of my characters.

It is on nights, weekends, and weeks like these that I find inspiration, true inspiration, to continue my work, and keep writing. I want to write them all into my book, though I know it only make it over crowded. I will, however, write them all in my books. All the ones to come – published or not – I want to capture at least a sliver of the fantastic people I have been so lucky to encounter.

And so I say, with only a small smirk: Thank you Atlanta. Good night.

Caged Tigers

I got nothing though I felt obligated to write something. My prickling fingertips told me so, as did the voices that rummage in my head from time to time (a lot of times). But we won’t get into that subject, my mother always said to never speak of them. EVER!

Today is supposed to be the beer festival in Atlanta. I was looking forward to taking my kids to their mother’s house for the weekend, and proceeding to allow the shitfacedness to ensue. Alas, it is not to be. You see, the festival is in the open streets of East Atlanta, but today the sky weeps. There is even a chance of a thunderstorm or two sweeping by. Bad enough to have drunks on the street, but to have drunks on the wet, rainy road, ehh… no gracias. You have no idea how retarded people get when it rains in this city. You'd think they got gassed or something.

Its' not that I hate the rain, hell, without it most people don’t know how strike up conversation. It’s just that it’s been raining for two weeks already. We are starting to feel and sound a lot like caged tigers: A lot of pacing, roaring, and clawing at one another. Its getting ugly. Wish me luck, but above all, wish me beer.